A Thousand Miles, MotG Story 2
by Kayzel
Summary: Archie is at odds, Donald is cooking up a scheme and Lexie is carrying a secret. Did Archie make the right decision leaving London behind to be Laird of Glenbogle? Only time will tell.
1. Chapter 1

_The storyline of **A Thousand Miles** follows my fan fiction titled **Assumptions--MotG Story 1**._

_I do not own any of the wonderful MotG characters or their respective worlds but have appreciated and enjoyed writing this fan fiction._

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_**A Thousand Miles**_

Life consists of balances. Birth follows death. Good, follows bad. It was the natural order of all things.

Ideally an even status quo was what one strove for. And indeed, this theory had been exclaimed often enough in muttered exasperation by the 14th Laird of Glenbogle a one Hector Naismith MacDonald. "No news was good news!" This habitual refrain irksome and annoying had always been accepted by the rest of the immediate MacDonald clan with a roll of the eyes and a throwing up of arms. It simply wasn't realistic, was it? A stagnant life was hardly a life at all. But in the wake of Hector's death the family had found to their surprise that this motto, this well-worn pearl of wisdom might just hold a kernel of truth.

Hector's wife had certainly mulled this phrase around in her mind when her husband's younger brother Donald had come round recently looking it appeared to bed down for goodness knew how long. Familiar with his questionable past and reputation Molly MacDonald had been cautious to open her home and heart once again to her brother-in-law, a man who'd stayed away for nearly 40 years. But she'd been left no choice really. And it was important for her children especially her son Archie the newly-designated Laird to size up their uncle for themselves.

It could have been argued however that Donald Ulysses MacDonald had not been given a fair chance. Barely having shared their first meal together, toasting to the memory of Hector and the future of their family when they'd come across a hitch, a second disturbance to the equilibrium they'd managed to achieve. It was something that had shocked Donald the most.

He was a father. Father to a son he'd never known. Father to a confident, self-made, full-grown adult, a man set in his own ways much as Donald was himself. Surely it wasn't bad news. But neither was it good.

Yet despite this interruption to their lives they'd all seemed to recover quite resiliently. Balance had been restored. Everything had followed its natural order.

Just in time for whatever was to come next.

_**Chapter 1**_

_**Questions without Answers**_

_**Glenbogle Village**_

"Okay, Mrs. MacDonald. Do you have any questions?"

Lexie shook her head and whispered, "No." Pulling on her short beige trench coat she tied its belt loosely around her waist then grabbed her hat and shoulder bag.

"All right then, please don't forget to schedule your next appointment at the front desk on your way out. And I guess I'll be seeing you in a few weeks. Good day, do take care."

Lexie smiled weakly, "Thanks, Dr. Murray."

_**Glenbogle House**_

Molly MacDonald deftly raced down the main staircase while donning her long, quilted vest. Goldenrod in color it was chosen especially to complement her favorite tweed cap with the deep yellow specks. Though her modeling days were well in the past a good sense of fashion had always been like second nature to her. And for this she was grateful. The recently widowed Molly was finally ready to add to her somber attire of late a tiny bit of spice. Thus adjusting the final flourish, a silk scarf tied round her neck and she was set to go out—almost.

Making the sharp right turn from the breezy servant's hall into the warm kitchen, her full skirt swirled around brushing against a wooden cupboard with a soft swish. She found her brother-in-law Donald exactly where she'd expected he'd be, sitting at the long wooden table in the center of the room, a pair of spectacles perched low on his nose. He was nursing a cup of coffee and reading the latest issue of _The_ _Glen-Bugle_.

"Molly!" Tilting his head down Donald glanced at her over thick, blue-grey frames. "Have something on your mind, do you?"

"Well yes, Donald actually I have," Molly paused. She chose her words carefully, "Not to pressure you or pry but have you given any thought to what you're going to do?" Moving further into the room she was now standing directly opposite him.

"Do?" Donald slapped down the news-rag and raised his salt and pepper brows in question.

"Yes, I mean here." Losing her patience, Molly tried to get on more clearly. "Oh Donald, for goodness sake how long do you plan on…"

"Sticking around," Donald interjected, "Being under foot? Getting in the way?" Having removed his spectacles he let them dangle freely from his right hand as he spoke.

Her question now voiced loud and clear Molly heard how callous it sounded. She tried softening her approach. "No I'm simply asking what your plans are. I've a right you know, this is my home."

Donald thought to himself, _Hmmm…fish and guests in three days are stale. _Molly's comment had unexpectedly stung him. Indeed it was true that the youngest son of Martha and Hamish MacDonald had chosen to flee the premises several years before on his own accord but he'd been born on the Glenbogle estate, a place he'd always considered home and to Molly he said as much.

"Fair enough, Molly. But it seems to me that this house is big enough for allof us to co-exist rather comfortably, quite possibly without even seeing one another for long stretches at a time. This is still my home too, after all, is it not?"

Molly realized he had a point nevertheless she questioned him further. "All of whom do you meanexactly, Donald?"

"Well," Donald kept count on his fingers as he spoke, "there's you, me, your son and his wife, and perhaps even my son."

"Your son, you say? Who? Paul Bowman? Is that who you mean? And when did this happen?"

"Oh, now don't get all huffy, Molls. Nothing has happened yet. I've sent him a letter inviting him to visit is all. As a bonding sort of thing, you know. Anyway, I've yet to hear from him."

Molly's expression turned from one of annoyance and impatience to one of concern. Sensing this, Donald soldiered on. "What's the real problem here then, hmm?" One temple of his glasses now pressed against his bottom lip, "Is it money?"

"Well, that depends on what you mean…"

"Good morning Mother, Uncle," Archie entered the kitchen, barging in on Molly and Donald's tenuous conversation. Repeatedly he tossed a set of keys up in the air with his right hand, catching them in his left.

Donald swiveled around on his stool to face his nephew. "Morning you say?" He made a show of pulling up the sleeve on his left arm so he could glance at his wrist watch. "It's half past eleven!"

"Yes, and I believe any time before noon is still considered morning." Archie shot his mother a look but her only response was a shrug of her shoulders.

"Now you listen to me young man," Donald rose from his stool. Being 6' 4" or close to it, the elder MacDonald towered above Archie making him appear even more imposing. "If I'm going to stay on here then I think some changes need to be implemented regarding the running of the estate. Glenbogle should be managed properly, like a business. Up at the crack of dawn! Burning the midnight oil! I'm not just a handsome face, you know. No, no my dear boy. I know quite a bit," He tapped the side of his head with two fingers for emphasis, "What's more; I'm willing to share that knowledge with you, my nephew!"

"If you stay on," Archie hesitated, confused by his uncle's admonishment. "Right, well um, yes I'll have to give that some thought, Donald."

"Mind you do, Archie, mind you do." Donald returned to the table.

Archie looked anxiously at Molly, "Mother, are you ready?"

Quickly approaching her son, Molly hooked Archie's arm with hers and pulled him toward the door. Nearly having exited to the adjacent hall Archie had a change of mind and went back to the kitchen to confront his uncle. His nostrils flaring slightly, his good mood rapidly souring, the younger MacDonald, taking advantage of the fact that Donald was now sitting, loomed over his uncle. "I was up at six this morning." Archie justified his remark with a nod and a quick one-handed flip of his jangling keys, "Just wanted to make that perfectly clear!"

"Hmph!" Donald's reaction, loud and indifferent made him feel as if he'd had the last word.

_**Glenbogle Village**_

Lexie stood outside the doctor's office collecting her thoughts, trying to decide where she should go next. She wasn't ready to go directly home just yet but one of the drawbacks of living in such a small community was that almost everywhere she went she was home.

Before realizing it her legs were carrying her away from the main, wider street that ran through the center of the village where she had parked the grey pick-up truck. Instead she found herself veering down a quieter, meandering lane. The slow pace she took along the gently curving sidewalk lulled her mind. She passed by _Baxter's Bakery_. In the front window freshly-baked rectangles of shortbread were neatly piled on lacy doilies set atop gleaming tiered stands. Though she adored the native cookies today they held no appeal. Walking by _The Grande Dame_ she spied a gaggle of curler-topped ladies clustered around a washing sink. Probably gossiping about the latest local scandal, she surmised which _Mrs._ was flirting with which shop_-keeper_ for a better cut of meat or fresher selection of produce.

When she reached _Clarke's Stationers_ she stopped. This is where she would have ordered her invitations had she and Archie had the wedding of her dreams. She had designed them in her imagination: cream-colored, satin-edged notes embossed with the MacDonald Clan's Crest, written in an elegant deep-purple font and off-set by envelopes lined with the family's pretty tartan. As a final touch a small spray of white heather—the symbol of good fortune would be enclosed. Though white heather was rarer, Golly, the estate's Ghillie and the most knowledgeable person Lexie knew regarding topics of the land and its history had once told her that the more common purple actually stood for solitude. How ironic.

But who on her side of the family would she have sent the invitations to, anyway? Her mother? There's no doubt Pamela would have thought them too plain. At least Eric, her mother's current husband would have noted the meaningful little touches of that she was certain. Pamela was lucky to have married such a thoughtful man as Eric Morton. And as for her father, Lexie wasn't even sure what continent Alex McTavish was presently schmoozing his way around.

Yes Lexie had planned the perfect wedding it had seemed in that short, blissful sliver of time after Archie had placed the pull-top ring on her finger and before announcing their engagement. She had wanted to hold off on saying anything just for a bit but Archie was so eager to share his joy—their joy—with his family and their closest friends. She hadn't remembered ever seeing him so content and at ease.

But Lexie knew better. For every drop of happiness, every silver-lined cloud that life had ever been willing to grant her there were just as many storm-darkened ones looming in the distance, waiting to roll on in.

Just like now.

_**Glenbogle Kitchen**_

Having finished reading the newspaper Donald flipped over the last page and drained the dregs from the bottom of his cup of coffee. He chomped, as always, on any remaining bits of grounds stuck to his teeth and tongue—a disgusting habit, particularly for someone purporting to be so refined but one hard to break all the same. He noticed a colorful ad taking up most of the back page of the paper, immediately recognizing the Coat of Arms emblazoned on either side of the text, the familiar castle and crown set on opposing fields of yellow with 'Ks' on the two, remaining red quadrants, as that of Kilwillie Castle. It read:

_**Kilwillie's Luxury Foods**_

Gentleman's Relish -- Venison Pate -- Whisky Marmalade

& Other Fine Edibles

_Quality Products for the Discerning Gentleman's Palate _

_at Nearly a Commoner's Price_

_**Kilwillie Enterprises**_

Private Label Distillery

Also Try _**Kilwillie Spring Water**_

**All Products Produced and Packaged in the Scottish Highlands**

"Hmmm," said Donald. The old cogs and wheels of his mind turning, his attention became distracted.

Ewan Brodie the hired Glenbogle chef, a young but very capable, self-taught cook scuffed noisily up the back stairs, each scrape of his footing on the concrete steps echoing against the high-walled narrow space of the stair well. He sported a 50lb sack of potatoes slung over his left shoulder which he hoisted and dropped to the kitchen floor with a loud thud.

"Oh!" Startled, Donald jumped a little, placing his hands over his heart. "What on earth? Ugh, potatoes," he wrinkled his nose and curled his upper lip in mild disgust.

"Aye, they're po-ta-toes!" Ewan mocked, "Just what've you got against tatties? These humble little…"

"Dirty…" Donald cut in.

"…beauties," Ewan continued, "are culinary stars. Baked, fried, smashed with garlic or boiled. Any way you cook 'em, they're fantastic! I'm thinking of writing a book, I am. I'll title it: _Totally Tubular Tubers_."

Donald fluffed off Ewan's comments and mumbled under his breath, "Hmmm, you probably thought deep-frying _Mars Bars_ was a brilliant concept, too. " Out loud he said, "Tell me, ahem, Chef," Ewan flashed him a smile. "Is Gus still kicking around these hills?"

"Gus?" Ewan asked, wracking his brain. Though he wasn't native to the area, his parents had moved to Glenbogle from Glasgow when he was still a lad, Ewan had been living the latter part of his twenty-one odd years in the small village. And, as young men do, he'd made his way all around the town quite sufficiently and as such was pretty familiar with who was who.

"Yes, Gus…_Gloomy Gus, _that's what Hector and I used to call him." Donald waved his hand impatiently about, "oh, the man must have a trillion names! Let's see here, what would you probably know him as, Lord Angus or something of that nature?" Donald spoke dramatically and then added amusingly, "Only his family dared call him Sharon!"

Seeing as the boy was still without a clue, Donald held up the _Glen-Bugle_, pointing to Kilwillie's advertisement.

"Oh, you mean Kilwillie? Aye, he's back."

"He's back, you say?"

"Yea, he went on a tour around the world and his sister."

"Lady Dorothy?"

"Aye, you know her then?"

"Ugh!" Donald shivered at the mere mention of Dorothy Trumpington-Bonnet's name. "Yes, I remember Dottie. Ha-ha," Donald slapped his knee, "she positively hated it when I called her Dottie, or even worse, Dot! She was quite a looker though. Well, um, at least she was in our younger days, wouldn't know now, but whooo," he whistled, "She was also a very conniving little," His voice trailed off, lost in a memory.

"Aye, well she was looking after the estate while Kilwillie was travelling. I had a few run-ins with her, too. Geez she almost had me arrested but that's a story for another time." Ewan momentarily became lost in his own horrid memory. "Anaway, thank goodness she's pushed off again."

Donald opened his eyes wide, bringing himself back to reality, "Yes, that is very good news. So you said the old dog traveled the globe, 'eh? Hmm," Donald stood and dutiful personified pushed his stool underneath the table and placed his mug in the sink. "Thanks for the info, lad." Donald slipped the folded newspaper under his arm and left the kitchen.

_**Archie and Molly in a Vehicle**_

"You're awfully quiet Archie, dear."

Though Archie didn't respond verbally, his facial expression and manner implied it was nothing.

"I've no doubt," Molly continued, "that you're thinking about your Uncle, ruminating over his words. Remember, he takes some getting used to. I've said this before deep down he truly is a good person and most of the time at least his heart is in the right place. Why not just try and bear with him, hmm?"

"Aye I'm sure you're right, Mother. But what's this business about him running the estate? I mean quite honestly I hadn't given much thought to what he was going to do when he'd arrived. I was happy to meet him and to welcome him back home. He is now the patriarch of the clan McDonald." Archie signaled left, turning onto a highway. "Och, I don't know, I guess I thought he'd just take a room here and then, you know," Archie nearly whispered, "do what father did." He glanced at his mother, his annoyance building. "Donald's retired now so why doesn't he take up fishing or golf or just do whatever it is that strikes his fancy! And by that," Archie's voice rose, "I do not mean running the estate! I know I said we should persevere together but, I meant with me at the helm! What does he know about running an estate?" Archie sighed heavily and slammed his fist onto the steering wheel.

"I know, I know," Molly tried to soothe her son. "It was the same with my brother, having just turned up before your father died. He offered to stay on after with the idea of helping. And at the time he was a great help to meemotionally. Now admittedly Jolyon's less into schemes and more into himself. I suppose he, like Donald, feel a bit responsible for what goes on at Glenbogle and they want to offer their assistance but."

"But it's not necessary for them to do so, is it?"

"Well?" Molly hesitated.

"Wait. Hold on just a second here. You do agree that I don't need any help running the estate, correct?"

"Oh Archie please, let's not discuss this now. Mind your driving."

"Mind my driving? Bollocks!!" Angered full-tilt, Archie took a deep breath and tried to temper his emotions and voice. "You don't think I'm doing a bad job at running the estate though, do you, Mother? Mother, answer me!" Though Archie implored her to respond, Molly remained silent, save for telling him once again to mind his driving.

_**Glenbogle Village**_

"Lexie?"

Catching sight of someone's reflection in a store window, Lexie turned around to greet a woman who was coming out of the bakery. She was laden with white and pink boxes all tied with thin red and white string.

"Hi Liz, can I help you with those?"

"Oh gosh, no Lexie thanks for offering. I decided to nip round here myself today," she said sheepishly. "I'd not had enough time to do my own baking this morning and well, in a pinch, _Baxter's __does_ make the best scones, oh and their shortbread! My American guests in particular insist on having some after every meal. They think it's the Scots thing to do and there's no telling them any different! They won't hear it. But listen to me going on! I'll tell you what, how about you come on over for a cup of tea, hmm? I know shortbread's a favorite of yours, too."

Lexie looked down and away, trying to think up an excuse. It's not that she didn't like spending time with Liz Logan McKay, taking tea in her charming Bed & Breakfast which was just round the corner. She'd actually become quite friendly with the woman as she was the aunt of Glenbogle's Head Ranger, Duncan. Having started as housekeeper at the estate just a few years prior to Duncan's being hired Lexie and he had become fast friends. She'd even suspected that Duncan thought they'd become closer than just friends some day but it wasn't in the cards for them to be together. Theirs was a brother-sister relationship through and through. Not that there was anything wrong with Duncan McKay. He'd always been kind to her and he certainly was cute, what with those dimples and his curly chestnut hair, but if there wasn't any magic between them—and in Lexie's opinion, there wasn't—then there wasn't any point in pursuing him, was there? Lexie was, she knew, an incurable romantic.

"Now, now Lexie, I won't take no for an answer," Liz persisted. "Besides, we haven't gabbed for ages." She said this while giving Lexie the once-over, "And listen, I promise not to ask any questions."

Although not a mother herself, Liz Logan McKay always had a sixth sense about people, an instinct that served her well as the owner of a Bed & Breakfast where sometimes travelers journeying from near and far sought solace in the inn's homey atmosphere and her caring attitude. Most times however she came off as being a wee bit too nosy for Lexie's taste. But given the lack of female friendships presently in Lexie's life, it couldn't hurt. A bit of girl-talk was probably just what she needed no matter the actual age of the girl.

"Aye, okay. I could do with a nice cup of chamomile, Liz."

_**Property Surrounding Glenbogle**_

Donald was beginning to regret having chosen to walk to Kilwillie Castle. Leaning against one of the large trees that ran along the side of the road he closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. As a boy it would have taken him twice as long to reach his neighbor's estate with him, _Daring Donald_ and his brother, _Heroic Hector_ creating adventures for themselves along the way, effortlessly traversing in and out of the surrounding groves of tall pines. But that would only happen during the summer months. For the rest of the year _Gloomy Gus _would be shipped off to boarding school. Later as free-wheeling lads getting a bit tipsy on gallons of Shandy, of all things, that odd but easy-going-down concoction of beer and lemonade—all the rage at the time—meant the trio would almost never make it from point A to point B on foot. But then that had been half the fun.

Donald reasoned that while standing there taxing his brain with memories of the past he'd actually allowed himself to succumb to a light cat-nap because the next thing he knew he was listening to an idling car engine.

"What the Bally Mos…Donald?! Could it actually be the Daring Donald?"

Donald's face transformed into a wide, clownish grin, "Gloomy Gus!"

"Oh! _Gallant Gus_, my nom de plume was _Gallant Gus_, don't you remember?" Lord Kilwillie leaned out of the window of his polished antique auto. "I was the one who always rescued the pretty damsel in distress! Oh, never mind," he whined. "I'd heard you were in town but what in heaven's name are you doing here standing in the middle of nowhere?"

"En route to see you!"

"Ah, well why didn't you say? Hop in old chap!"

_**Kilwillie Estate**_

"My, my, you've done some redecorating I see?" Donald gazed around at the high walls of the formal parlor, the red paint and gleaming fixtures chosen very ostentatious and bold.

"Yes well when one has lived in the same dwelling all their lives as I've done one does what they can to put their own stamp on things, to make a home feel their own. Now if you'll just excuse me for a moment I'll need to track down my butler." Instead of stepping out of the room Lord Kilwillie took a deep breath and hollered out at the top of his lungs, "Badger!!"

After a few long minutes an aging man wearing a uniform of black suit, vest and pants, with a white shirt, bow tie and gloves which had taken on a yellowish hue, appeared at a side door. With one shoulder stooped lower than the other and a slight drag to one leg the silver-haired man hobbled into the room. "Yes M'Lord? Oh," he said, excited at the prospect of entertaining, "I see we have company!"

"No, Ihave company!" Lord Kilwillie pointed to himself as if the motion were necessary. "Could you fix us a drink and then prepare something for us to eat, you know, the usual kingly spread and," Lord Kilwillie thought for a moment, planning this all in his mind, "yes, I think I shall like us to be served in the dining room. Badger? Badger? Badger!!"

While having his instructions dictated to him the butler had been staring unflinchingly at the guest until recognition finally donned on his face. "I remember you, aren't you?"

"Yes! It's me, in the flesh!"

"Blimey! It's been nearly what, 40, 50 years, hasn't it?"

"Yes indeed," Donald bent his huge frame and spoke to the diminutive butler using his hand to screen his mouth from Lord Kilwillie, "I don't suppose you could whip us up a batch of your famous tasty oat cakes, hmm?"

"Oh, yes," Badger smiled, "I'll have them ready for you in a jiffy, Sir."

"Badger!!"

"Yes, M'Lord," The butler pulled himself away from the guest and fixed his attention on his boss. "I'll fix your drinks right away. You know, you really shouldn't yell so much, all that blood rising to your head, remember what the doctor said. Getting too agitated wasn't good for your blood pressure." He continued prattling on to no one in particular while slowly making his way to the liquor cabinet.

"If only," Lord Kilwillie said to Donald in a hushed, irritated tone, "refurbishing people were as easy as redecorating a home!"

_**Glenbogle Village**_

_**Liz's Bed & Breakfast**_

Liz poured a little boiling water into the china tea pot, swirling it sufficiently around before dumping it into the sink. Filling the warmed pot with loose tea she emptied the rest of the kettle water into the chamber before replacing the lid and topping it with a quilted tea cozy. With everything set on a large wooden tray she carried it into the adjoining room where Lexie was sitting comfortably at a small round table.

While the chamomile tea steeped Liz took a knife from the side board and broke the string on one of the bakery boxes. The sweet smell emanating from the open box of pastries mixed with the brewing tea infused the air with a warm, comforting scent.

"So, how are you finding married life?" They had both known Liz couldn't actually resist asking questions, her theory being that questions were the building blocks of any good conversation.

"Well it's had its ups and downs. But we're very happy together."

As Liz filled some silver dessert stands with pastries, Lexie began to prepare their teas.

"Mm-hmm, I can see that in the way he looks at you. Archie seems very happy, content."

Lexie was a little surprised at Liz's comment. "Aye." She added a few drops of milk to the two delicate bone cups Liz had set out and then, holding a strainer over each, she poured in the steaming tea. Though through the years she'd had much experience serving tea at the Big House—as Glenbogle was familiarly called—Lexie handled this China gingerly, knowing the fine set with the intricate all-over floral pattern had been in the McKay family for generations and as such, only a few pieces remained.

"Listen Lexie, when you've gotten to know as many people as I have over the years, you pick up on things. No matter the culture or age when two people love each other, I mean truly love each other there's just no mistaking or faking it. When they stand arm in arm together they sort of lean in to one another, both offering equal support. When one speaks the other is attentive. Och! There are all sorts of little nuances and see that's the difference. I'm not talking about grand, overt gestures. It's the little things, isn't it**? **It's him making sure he hasn't hogged all the bed clothes for himself or leaving the last bannock because even cold they make delicious midnight snacks."

Lexie relaxed back into her chair and took a sip of the hot, soothing tea.

Liz placed her hand on Lexie's arm, tapping it gently, "They're the things that help you get through the rough times."

_**Kilwillie Estate**_

Donald began to salivate eyeing the sumptuous spread Badger had laid out for them on the dining room table. There were glistening pots of relish and chutney, various savory jams and sweet jellies, perfect molds of smooth pate, dishes of pickled onions and marinated mushrooms, plates of grilled sardines and rare beef with horseradish, a selection of delectable smoked cheeses cut into thick slabs and wedges and in the center of it all, a heaping stack of freshly-baked oat cakes.

Approaching first Lord Kilwillie pulled out an arm chair at the head of the table for himself, indicating for Donald to take the seat to his right. Eagerly, the two men tucked into the feast.

"So tell me what have you been up to over the years, now that you've hung up your racing gloves?" Lord Kilwillie asked with genuine interest, before stuffing a large piece of chutney-topped oat cake into his mouth.

"Mmmm…Well," Donald wiped his lips on a scallop-edged linen napkin which had a red 'K' embroidered in one corner. "I've done a bit of traveling myself. But no matter where I've gone or what I've accomplished, returning to Glenbogle has always been on my mind." He cut himself a healthy hunk of cheese and grabbed another oat cake, slathering it with pate. "Gus, this food is absolutely delicious! I know Badger is handy but I'm sure he's not capable of all of this. Where around here did you find such fare may I ask?"

"Well if you must know," Lord Kilwillie spoke with feigned modesty. He rose from the table and walked over to the far side of the room where he pushed open a swinging door retrieving something from within. Upon returning Donald could see he was holding a pamphlet which he offered to his guest. "These products are well, they're mine!"

"Good show, old man!" Donald removed his glasses from an inner pocket of his jacket, rubbing them on a corner of his coat before putting them on. "When did you get into the let's see here, the luxury foods business then?" He read this phrasing right off the pamphlet which was a more elaborate version of the ad he'd seen in the _Glen-Bugle—_a fact he didn't mention_. _There were colorful pictures scattered throughout the glossy leaflet and one very large image of Lord Kilwillie's smiling face.

"Well as I'm sure you remember my father had a very fine palate, always ordering the best of the best for his family. I suppose after years of sampling such good food I became a sort of connoisseur, if you will. And anyway you don't want to hear all of this."

Donald was still perusing the pamphlet. "So how's business?"

"Oh! Donald, I don't want to talk shop!"

"No, no, of course you don't, I'm sorry." Donald cast the brochure aside but continued to gnaw on this rather tasty bone. "It's just that I think someone like you, who was born into all of this, yet still has the fortitude and generosity to become an entrepreneur in his own right possibly providing hundreds of jobs for local people should be commended!"

Lord Kilwillie's ego now pumped, his face positively beamed. He decided to divulge one of his primary trade secrets of which Donald carefully listened.

"The key to success in selling anything I believe is you have to know your market. You must choose something that you have a passion for and that you're familiar with. Mine is very obviously food," he said this last part with a chuckle while patting his rounded stomach. "Now I don't suppose I could interest you in staging the Battle of Culloden with my fine set of toy soldiers? You can be Bonnie Prince Charlie."

"Um no," Donald said with raised brows.

"No," replied Lord Kilwillie, a little disappointed, "I thought not." What he really wanted to say was, _"No, you're certainly not my dear pal, Hector. Poor, poor Heroic Hector."_

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

Returning to Glenbogle from her visit with Liz Lexie had felt much more relaxed and in a better frame of mind than she had been earlier that morning. As she pulled into the garage drive she saw Molly quickly heading to the house and heard Archie slamming the Estate Office door. _"Oh no,"_ she thought. No matter that on the drive home she had managed to garner enough confidence to become resolute in her decision to tell Archie her news it was looking as though their talk would have to wait. Once outside the truck she called out to Molly who waved and said hello but kept on going. Lexie took a deep breath and made her way to the office.

Before opening the door she rapped on it lightly. Though not something she was accustomed to doing somehow it had seemed right at the moment.

"Arch?"

Her husband was sitting in a wooden swivel seat behind the desk, his elbows resting on the chair's arms and his hands clasped loosely in front of him. He was looking very despondent, staring vacantly ahead.

From the door, Lexie spoke out softly again, "Arch?" When he didn't react she moved into the room and crouched beside him. "What's wrong? Hmm? You're scaring me. Did you have a row with Molly?" She began to rub his tense shoulders and neck but he pulled away from her.

"Actually no, I couldn't call it that because it was a bit one-sided. You see I asked her a question and she hesitated with her response. That's all that was said. And it was plenty." His voice was strained as he tried to control his anger.

"This isn't making any sense. What's this all about?"

"Oh nothing just this little thing called Glenbogle and how this Laird—the man you married, mind you who gave up his previous London life to try to, run the estate apparently rather unsuccessfully!"

"Did she actually say that to you Archie? Did she tell you that you weren't doing a good job?"

"No not in so many words. But I asked her point blank," he emphasized his words by striking his fingers on the edge of the desk.

"And what did she say?"

"Nothing Lexie, she said nothing! Doesn't that say everything?"


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

_**Hatching a Plan**_

Almost every cook who had spent any length of time working in the Glenbogle kitchen put their personal stamp on the rather ancient, no-frills space. For Lexie it was photos. They were tacked up on small cork boards, on shelves, on the back of cupboard doors, holding places in recipe books, on the fridge and even on that beloved sepia-toned poster—which no one seemed to reference—identifying a myriad of indigenous mushrooms. When Irene Stuart was hired she brought with her a stunning collection of high-quality chef's knives. There was a smaller, personal kit of about seven knives each having its own slot in a soft black carrying case which rolled closed and was secured with a small bit of Velcro and a tie. Then there were the larger ones, the cleavers and such which Golly, estate ghillie and consummate handyman saved from a life of being jostled around in a drawer, a guaranteed way of dulling the blades, by rigging a magnetic strip to the wall whereupon they could rest comfortably, sharply waiting for the chance to be used.

In Ewan Brodie's case his interest in music was just as important to him as was his interest in cooking. On a small cloth-covered table in the corner of the kitchen near the huge black stove, tucked in messy piles amongst pieces of crockery were about 50 CD's or roughly half his collection and a pretty decent, at least for what he was paid, _Sony_ CD player. Though the acoustics of the room were terrific common decency and house rules prevented him from listening to the tunes as they were truly meant to be heard; loud and bouncing off the walls. But, as a former pre-adolescent destined to become a regular tearaway, he was grateful for the job and the second chance he had been given by the MacDonalds and therefore tried very hard not to abuse his privileges.

"Okay," Ewan pushed a few buttons on the CD player then turned to face Duncan. "Listen to this next track."

As both lads played their various 'air' instruments Golly entered the kitchen. He was carrying several hunted rabbits, all hung from a string in his which he proceeded to cart into the pantry. Carefully and methodically he laid them out on a butcher block then arranged them one by one on hooks overhead suspended from a square metal contraption secured to the ceiling. While he worked he shook his head at the noisy music and Duncan had taken notice.

"Wuh? Not your cup of tea, 'eh, Golly?" Both Duncan and Ewan laughed.

"Och, this isn't music, lads! If it's real music you're after, you have to look to the classics."

"Oh aye, and who would that be, _The Beatles_?"

"Aye, sure, _The Beatles_. They diversified." Seeing as neither of the younger men responded, Golly added, "They didn't stick with one type of song or one tempo. They changed it up a bit. They sang ballads, love songs, folksy tunes and rock-n-roll."

"Check it out, Ewan," Duncan joshed, "Golly's a fan of _The Fab Four_! Who knew?"

While Duncan and Golly continued their discussion, Ewan crossed the kitchen to check a pot bubbling away on the stove.

"Psst!"

Ewan stopped stirring briefly then shook his head and continued mixing the contents of the pot.

"Psst! Psst!"

Knowing this time he'd definitely heard something he twisted his head slowly to the left and spotted Donald's barely discernable body standing just beyond, motioning with his hand for Ewan to join him. Replacing the lid, he cautiously approached Donald.

Before either had spoken, Donald put a finger to his lips and said, "Shhhh!" Ewan nodded, following along with the weird instructions. "Do you know anything about fishing?"

"Fishing? Yes!"

"Shhhh! And salmon, what do you know about salmon?"

"Aye, well you have to fish to get the salmon."

"Hey, this is no time to be a smart aleck! I need you to meet me in my room at twenty-two hundred hours—tonight."

"Right, why?"

"What?"

"Why," Ewan repeated.

"Shh! Shh! Shh! Lower your voice, lad. I need your help with…well let's just say I need your help with a special project. Are you in?"

"Yea, okay what the hell!"

"Oh and one last thing," Donald leaned in closer as if this last detail was the most crucial, "come alone!"

As Donald stole off into the night, Ewan returned to the kitchen, "Tsk," he said to no one in particular, "Really, who would I bring?"

_**Lexie in Molly's Studio**_

Lexie sat at her desk in what used to be Molly's painting studio. Though she did still paint from time-to-time Molly preferred the brisk outdoor air, setting up an easel on the side lawn or even in the library where the sunlight streamed in brightly in the colder months. The room, situated between Molly and Hector's bedrooms was tiny and cozy. The pale yellow wallpaper which had been up for years was starting to show its wear but was a good calming foil to the rows of shelves still containing colorful tempera paints, tubes of oils, bottles of solvents, brushes and various accumulated odds and ends.

Lexie opened up her laptop and scrolled to the search engine then typed in a topic. Although she clicked on one of the retrieved choices her eyes drifted. Her attention span was nil. Sitting just feet away from her in her father-in-law's bedroom was her husband. She knew that sometimes late at night Archie would sit in the room, not on the bed or in one of the old wooden chairs with the rush seats but in the back, leaning against the wooden lid of the built-in tub that Hector was so fond of soaking in. Though most of Hector's personal effects had been removed, his bedroom was still pretty much intact. Not so much the 'shrine' that she'd felt Jamie's room had become for the family but more just a remembrance of the cantankerous but loveable Hector.

She felt a bit selfish realizing that the one thing that stuck out most in her mind about what Archie had said in the office earlier that day was that he'd been forced to give up his London life. _Had he also meant his former girlfriend Justine_, Lexie wondered. Several years had gone by now, but still. The thoughts were always there, weren't they? They'd been a pair for such a long time, he and Justine. One doesn't easily forget someone they've know quite so intimately for that length of time. Five years, it was. Ample enough time to become familiar with someone else, to become comfortable with another's ways. Two lives merged into one. Archie did love her, Lexie was sure. But would their relationship ever be that in sync?

Deciding it would probably be best to call it a night, she logged out of her screen. The great sale on baby cots and other related items would have to wait for another day, as would the very important discussion she needed to have with the wee lad or lassie's Daddy.

_**Donald's Attic Bedroom**_

Looking out the window at the bird's eye view Donald MacDonald had from his small attic bedroom made him literally feel as though he were sitting on top of the world. The enormous dark sky shimmered with what appeared to be thousands of shiny little gold sequins. He remembered this sky, an undiluted canopy of speckled darkness, unaffected by the artificial lighting normally cast by the congested city atmospheres of which he was so familiar.

A knock at the door in that recognizable 'secret code rhythm' meant Ewan was right on time.

"En-ter!!"

Ewan turned the knob on the door with his left hand. In his right he held a covered dish with three bottles secured under the same arm; two beers and a bottle of malt vinegar.

"Brought us a snack for the meeting, Donald," Ewan indicated the covered plate, "Made those homemade chips you like, even remembered the vinegar. And," he held up the bottles of beer, "something to wash it all down with." He placed the food and drinks on a trunk then sat in the offered chair, eyeing his surroundings. The vaulted ceiling and rough texture of the stone walls was unlike any of the other rooms Ewan had seen at Glenbogle. "This place is fantastic."

"Well, through a young man's eyes, it was for me, too but now with my arthritic knees it's more work than it's really worth to climb all of those stairs. When it's hot outside, the room's unbearable; when cold, it's freezing. But day or night, mind the view is always magnificent."

"I'll switch bedrooms with ya any day! So what's all this about fishing?" Already salted to his liking, Ewan set to the task of thoroughly dousing the chips with vinegar.

Donald clapped his hands and rubbed them together then pulled Lord Kilwillie's _Glen-Bugle_ advertisement out from under a pile on his small desk and placed it on the trunk that sat between them, smoothing out the wrinkles. Striking it he said, "This is it!"

"Um," Ewan looked on quizzically, "I don't get it."

"Oh don't be so obtuse, lad! This is, well it's going to be, the answer to the estate's money problems." Ewan sat up, a _get out of here_ look changing his face. "Well, I mean eventually, you must understand. It's going to take some hard work, but by gum, I declare it's just another avenue for Glenbogle to explore and a chance for me to show exactly what I'm capable of."

"But this is Kilwillie's company, what's it have to do with you?"

"Well the thing is I was able to pump him for ideas. What does the man know, really? He hasn't worked a day in his life! But he was smart enough to corner the epicurean food market here, in this country. Not in Europe, not in America, but here."

"Right, but I'm still not following, Donald."

"My dear boy, listen. What is the most abundant thing Glenbogle has, hmm?"

"Debt?"

"Oh, be serious for a moment, would you lad? It's fish! The lochs are overflowing with salmon! Heard Golly saying so himself just the other day. The supply is virtually endless for the amount we would need and it's all on Glenbogle land, _my_ family's land—so there's no overhead. If I can smoke my own fish and start up a small grassroots company, show that I can pay my own way here, that I'm inventive and innovative, well then, Archie will have to see the business acumen that I possess. It's a foolproof plan, it is."

"Okay, okay wait, so this is all some ploy to get you to co-run the estate? Sounds like a lot of work just for a title. And what will I gain from it?"

"It's not a ploy, and it's certainly not just a title. My nephew, the Laird, _is_ the title! But he needs help running the estate and he's very touchy about the subject. He's gotten all of that stubborn MacDonald blood from my brother, he simply can't see things any way but _his_ way and that's not necessarily the best way. If I can prove that I can make this happen, well it explains itself then, doesn't it?"

"But Donald, how are you going to smoke the salmon and package it and sell it? You don't have all of Kilwillie's fancy equipment and stuff unless you plan on breakin' into his plant. I won't be a party to any breaking and entering. I've basically got a clean record right now and I plan to keep it that way thank you very much!"

"No, no, no, my dear boy, we'll not resort to thievery and the like, this will all be done on the up and up. I'll think of something. Ha, brilliant! I've got it! This is going to be a small operation—at least at first. We can sell our wares in small batches at the outdoor market in the village. That's perfect, isn't it?"

"I don't know about this Donald."

"Well much of it will depend on you, you know. How good are you at fishing?"

"That won't be a problem 'cuz I've been fishing since I was a wee lad. Learned everything I know fly fishing, Spey casting with a double-handed rod, you name it, all at my Granddad Brodie's knee. So do you have all of the gear?"

"Gear?"

"Aye you know, the lures and poles and such? The basic kit one needs to go fishing Donald!"

"Yes, yes those are mere incidentals. I remember where my dear old father, may God bless his soul, kept his supplies and I daresay Hector, may his soul be blessed as well, wouldn't have moved them. I will have everything ready for you but you'll have to find some books on smoking fish. And I think that should do us."

"Oh aye, well I won't be able to go until after breakfast, Donald and even at that, only for a couple hours."

"Well if you're as good as you say you are, lad, then that shouldn't be a problem, should it?"

Satisfied, Donald grabbed a huge handful of chips and stuffed them into his mouth when another thought occurred to him, "Yoo cn tk cay of 'em, too, righ?"

"Can I take care of them—you mean gut and filet them?" _Yes of course, you arse_, Ewan wanted to say, but instead he lifted his beer bottle and let it clink against Donald's, "You bet, Partner, you bet."

_**Lexie & Archie's Bedroom**_

By the time Lexie had finished washing up Archie was fast asleep. She regretted that they hadn't said good night to one another and before slipping under the covers she blew him a kiss. Though she liked getting into a cold bed and letting her body gradually warm up, she could never fall asleep with cold feet. As she slid her legs under the heavy duvet a gentle heat emanated from the foot of the bed. Thoughtfully, Archie had prepared her a hot water bottle so her feet would be nice and toasty.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

_**According to Whose Plan?**_

Very early the next morning as Ewan mentally prepared for that day's fishing excursion with Donald, and Duncan came round the Big House to snatch a bit of breakfast before tackling his chores, Archie unexpectedly came tearing into the kitchen.

"Ewan, did you know that the bins in the court yard weren't emptied?"

Ewan shrugged, "They weren't?"

"No, they weren't, and do you know how I know this?" Archie flapped his arms and wagged his finger mere inches from Ewan's face. "Because I could _smell_ them a mile away, that's how!"

"Um, Arch," Duncan interjected, "I was actually supposed to empty the bins this morning, not Ewan." He put down the small container of yogurt he'd been eating, "It's just that, you see, I'd agreed to collect the rest of the trash from the house first." His explanation completed, Duncan picked up the container and started eating again.

"And," an infuriated Archie demanded.

"And well, I haven't yet, have I?"

"So?" Archie's eyes widened as he motioned for Duncan to continue.

"So," slowly, Duncan came round to Archie's way of thinking, "so I should go do it now, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, yes, that would be great!"

Without saying another word, Duncan dumped the half empty plastic container and spoon into the sink, mouthing good luck to Ewan as he raced out of the kitchen.

"For goodness sake," Archie had still not finished his rant and now Ewan alone was receiving the full brunt of it, "just what do we pay you people for? Oh, heaven forbid someone should do something without being asked to do so first! Now after the breakfast service is done, I'd like to go over all of the ordering slips and the receipts, please."

"Ah well," Ewan confidently spoke up, "Lexie does the actual ordering and then I just double check orders and sign for them when they come in."

"Listen to me very carefully," again, Ewan found Archie's finger dangerously close to his face, "I would like to go over them with you. Is that clear?" Ewan nodded. "You are the cook, are you not?" Nodding a second time it was, he found, best not to say a word. "Good. Then would that be so difficult?"

_**Exterior, Glenbogle Estate**_

Donald thought back through the years when his father used to keep the tackle and fishing gear in a building at the back of the property. Though the elder MacDonald was quite adept at the sport neither of his sons, unfortunately, had followed suit. It was true that Hector had determinedly spent numerous hours trying his hand at the trade, but aside from catching the errant boot or other man-made debris that happened to find its way into the loch and onto his hook, he'd never been very successful at the task.

Approaching the far end of a building that faced the court yard, where the slatted doors blended in with the walls, Donald ran his fingers along the entire length until he reached an opening. Pushing the door open he stepped inside the dim, musty space. Images of how it had previous looked came flooding back to him but this many years later how things had changed. Its use had been repurposed. Gone were the nets and tackle boxes and pails. In their place were dog leashes made of all kinds of materials hanging together on hooks along the wall, old grooming tools lying here and there and a few plastic-wrapped cases of tinned dog food, piled like bricks in one corner simply collecting dust.

Not knowing exactly where to look next Donald stumbled back outside. The day being unusually bright and sunny, he squinted as he paced about the area, swatting at the midges—whether real or imagined, though being mid June, the time was right for them to be swarming in droves. As he neared the stone archway which opened into the court yard, he caught sight of Golly's shed. "Ah-ha!" he exclaimed to himself. And that is where he headed next.

Entering the shed from the end door he began his search with only his eyes at first, scanning the shelves which ran along the left wall. But there were so many boxes, wooden and cardboard both, sitting shoulder to shoulder down the entire length it was impossible not to start pulling each forward in order to take a squint at their contents. Though curious as he normally was, Donald felt odd rummaging through another man's collected treasures. What eased the process was the misguided appearance of the untidy surfaces which, perhaps, had been intentionally left in disarray for the very purpose of discouraging people from poking around. For the contents of the boxes themselves, he found, seemed to be organized in some fashion. One held old glass peanut and olive jars—some with rusting metal lids, each filled to capacity with nails, cup hooks and screws. Others contained balls of string, spools of waxed twine and a variety of different nozzles for the ends of garden hoses.

Donald continued his laborious search of the middle shelf stopping only when it abruptly ended and intersected with a section of the wall that jogged out, forming a little alcove. Leaning upon this part his gaze fell upon a painting of a majestic stag. For a brief moment he remembered stalking with his father and Hector, in the days when a map of the surrounding hills was imprinted on his brain, or so it had seemed.

Abandoning the boxes, which, if truth be told, he knew, were too small to hold fishing poles and the like anyway, Donald continued his hunt along the work surfaces running beneath the windows that overlooked the court yard. In amongst the pliers, wire cutters, awls and metal vices he noticed two good-sized boxes, each containing eight rows of tiny plastic drawers. Peeking out from in between them was a bit of ecru-colored fabric. Recognizing the material at once, Donald gave it a strong tug. It was Hector's old fishing hat.

"Can I help you find somethin' there Donald?" Golly MacKenzie stood in the side entrance to the shed, eyeing Hector's hat. "Were you plannin' on doin' some fishin'?"

_**Dining Room, Glenbogle Estate**_

Lexie yawned and stretched as she entered the dining room. Though the sideboard was lined with chafing dishes filled with eggs, bacon and the like, she bypassed these items, favoring instead a hot cup of tea and a piece of buttered toast. Settling into a chair she rested her elbows on the table, letting her hands cradle her head.

"Where's Archie this morning?" Having fully tucked into her breakfast of scrambled eggs, mixed fresh fruit and a bit of sausage roll, Molly pushed aside her plate and picked up her half full glass of cranberry juice.

Lexie breathed deeply. "Och, I don't know. He was up hours before me today, though I thought I'd heard him barking out orders in the kitchen a while ago." She turned her head to the right, looking directly at her mother-in-law. "Do you want to shed some light on what happened yesterday, Molly?"

"What happened yesterday?" Finishing her juice, Molly placed the glass beside her plate and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

"Yes, yesterday. You know, Archie was really hurt by what you said, or, rather, by the lack of what you said. He counts on you for support, Molly. We both do!"

"Well maybe it's about time everyone stopped counting on me! Lexie look, I can't get into this now."

"That's fine, Molly because it's not me you should be talking to."

Molly rose from the table and whispered, "A few months of marriage does not make you an expert on all relationships, Lexie."

"Molly! What?" Perplexed, Lexie sat back in her chair, watching her mother-in-law leave the room, "Molly? That didn't even make any sense!"

_**Banks of a Loch, Glenbogle Estate Property**_

Not being a rugged, manly sort, Donald did not own, nor did he choose to drive that day, any of the all-terrain vehicles parked at the estate. Instead, he reasoned, he and Ewan would be travelling in style. So together they'd packed everything into his old-fashioned but refurbished convertible. The Morgan he affectionately called Molly.

Donald hadn't seen the folly of his ways until it was too late, realizing he'd need to park his auto about a mile away from the loch. Grumbling at the thought of traipsing across the uneven terrain, weighed down with gear, he wondered aloud why Ewan had not thought to mention this inconvenience.

Excited by the prospect of riding in and possibly having a slim chance of being able to drive the flashy antique, Ewan eagerly went along with Donald's choice for their mode of transportation. And fortunately, the lad had also planned ahead, preparing an ice chest for salmon storage but also for use as a makeshift seat for his elder companion. It had also provided a helpful way of conveying the necessary items to the bank, leaving Donald to carry just a rod and the flies.

Having situated themselves near the edge of the loch, Ewan began sorting through the assembled tools, "I'm really impressed, Donald. You managed to find a 14 foot single-handed rod."

Donald, looking a bit like a caricature sitting atop the ice chest in a mismatched suit and ascot, with Hector's hat—many sizes too small—perched on top of his head, smiled and gave Ewan a thumbs-up.

"Do you even know why you chose what you did?" Ewan continued checking out the reel and testing the line. "Because this time of year, the water's lower…did you have help with all this?"

"Well yes, Golly may have given me some instruction. I mean it's been umpteen years since I've done this, lad. You couldn't expect me to remember everything, could you?"

"Oh aye, but, ha, I knew you'd be needed some help. Okay, let's see what kind of flies Golly's chosen for um, eh-eh, you!"

Ewan found a few red and black Ally Shrimp flies, some Yellow Ally's and a Cascade, with orange and black coloring. The Cascade was the one he chose and attached. He remembered back to the first lesson his grandfather ever taught him, letting him cast with a slack line, which caused the line to jerk and halt, rendering the cast unsuccessful. Being a quick-study, however Ewan had mastered the correct steps while still very young, now making him a near-pro.

With his gear checked and ready, Ewan began the process by organizing, or straightening the line on the water's surface, making sure the rod tip was low and tight. He accelerated smoothly and then stopped, moving the rod forward and back in a soothing, hypnotic motion.

Whilst Ewan worked Donald, fearing he might fall asleep, engaged the lad in conversation. "Did you find any books on smoking fish?"

"Nay, Donald, this is the 21st Century, we use computers now! There's a laptop in the kitchen that Lexie lets me borrow so I looked up a couple things this morning. We'll have to salt the fish first, you know."

"Salt it? You mean like cure it?"

"Aye, well, sort of. It's important to extract most of the liquid out of the filets. We'll have to leave them in the salt for a couple a days, at least."

"A couple of days, you say?"

"Mmm-hmm," Ewan pulled his line out of the water, adjusting the reel before casting off again. "Which is just as well," Ewan glanced back a Donald, "because I'll need to put in an order for more salt—this little jobby's going to clean us clear out! And Arch's been on the warpath today! So I'd advise you to keep your ideas to yourself and stay out of his way."

Taking all of this in, Donald continued with his questions. "Then what's next? I mean, what happens after we've salted the fish…"

"Shh, wait…yes…Donald…I've got a bite…"

_**Estate Office, Glenbogle **_

After searching through the house for her husband, Lexie finally tracked Archie down in the Estate Office. When she entered, he was talking intently on the phone and he quickly closed a manila folder, covering it with his arm.

"Yes, um…I'm sorry. Could I possibly call you back, mate?" Archie abruptly ended his conversation, "Great, thanks…bye."

Lexie sat down opposite him. "What was that about?"

"That?" Archie pointed to the phone, "Oh, nothing, it was just some insurance business." Archie shuffled the manila folder in amongst the piles on the desk.

"Right."

"What…you don't believe me?" Lexie didn't answer. "Was there something you wanted?" Archie's tone had changed from that of being slightly nervous to that of slight impatience.

"Aye, I wanted to talk to my husband. What's going on with you, Arch? I mean I can understand you're being upset with Molly, you have a right to be, but don't take it out on me."

"I'm not!"

"You are, and everyone else besides. I'm on your side here." Lexie leaned forward in her chair, forcing her husband to look directly into her eyes. "How are we doing?"

"Actually, we're doing fine. I mean the estate's breaking even at this point. If we can keep the school group attendance up at the Activity Centre and keep folks visiting the Wildlife Centre, barring any major catastrophes of course, we'll start seeing more of a profit." Lexie sighed and shook her head. "What," Archie implored.

"I don't give a toss about how the estate's doing at this very moment, Archie. I meant us, Archie. How are we doing, you and me?"

_**Basement, Glenbogle Estate**_

Since using kitchen wasn't going to be a viable option—too many people roaming in and out of the area throughout the day, and especially after his meeting that morning—all he needed was for Archie to see him preparing a huge salmon that he knew wasn't going to be on the menu for the week—Ewan had planned in advance where he would gut and filet the fish. There was still the problem of ferrying the large ice chest through the court yard and into the building just beyond, undetected. But this proved easier than expected.

As Ewan and Donald approached the court yard's stone archway, they spotted Golly sitting outside his shed, oiling a small piece of equipment.

"So Captain Donald," the Ghillie spoke without taking his eyes from his work, "Will we supping on salmon or trout this evening?"

Ewan laughed, "You'll be starving tonight if you're waiting for him to feed ye!" To Donald Ewan said, "Listen Donald, I'll put this ice chest away for you, mate, you having had a hard day of fishing and all."

"What?" Though lost at first, Donald eventually caught on to Ewan's ploy. With a wink he said, "Oh, right. Yes, thank you, my boy! Take it away!" Turning to Golly, Donald laughed, "Guess I was a little too ambitious, today. Um, don't suppose you could offer me a tipple?"

Golly smiled and threw down his soiled rag. "Aye, I'm sure I've got somethin' hidden in the shed."

With both Donald and Golly occupied, Ewan set himself up in a back room in the basement of the estate where he'd already stashed some needed supplies. The room had been equipped with an old kitchen table and chairs, a little worktop and a small sink, which he'd scrubbed out thoroughly before getting starting. Setting in place the light he'd nicked from another section of the cellar, he began the arduous and messy—but also mind-relaxing task of gutting the salmon.

Using a combination of knives and kitchen shears, he sliced into the tail-end of the fish, running the blade smoothly up the belly toward the head then switched to the scissors for some of the tougher sections like the gills and pectoral fins. With a little tugging, he managed to pull out the tongue—that bit always made even him a mite wee squeamish—and the innards quite cleanly. Turning on the cold tap so a nice steady stream flowed, he rinsed the fish, scraping any remaining blood and bits left along the ribs and backbone. Picking up the knife again, just as his granddad had taught him, he searched for a clear opening in between the hard-to-reach bony area surrounding the kidney, piercing this with the tip of the knife to release its blood, and then rinsed the flesh once more. Having drained the water from the melted ice out of the chest, he placed the fish carcass on the remaining icy layer and quickly proceeded with the next.

_**Molly's Bedroom, Glenbogle Estate**_

"Mother," Archie knocked impatiently on his mother's bedroom door.

Busy rearranging something on a high shelf in her huge, pale-aqua wardrobe, Molly called out in a muffled voice, "Come in, Archie."

"The final changes have been made," though Archie's voice was civil, it was tinged with a hint of the underlying anger he still harbored, "I spoke with the company this morning."

"Fine, I'm glad everything's been sorted." Molly took a deep breath, "Archie, we can't go on like this. We need to talk."

"We're talking right now, aren't we?"

"Oh! You know what I mean! Goodness, you're just as stubborn as your father ever was! You know out of all of my children, your older brother Jamie had been the most like your father. If only he'd never had that accident on the loch, such a tragedy, it's such a pity. And Lizzie is well, Lizzie. But you, my youngest child, you are the most like me and the one that I had the highest hopes for."

Archie sighed, "I don't have time for this Mother." He started to head out of the room.

"If things had gone the way they should have," Molly practically yelled, "then you wouldn't have been stuck here."

"Ah, there it is, isn't it? You mean you wouldn't have been stuck here, Mother. Left to muddle through things with me, right? Me, your only living son who's doing as crappy a job as Father had done, aye? Am I right?"

"Now hold on a minute, Archie. Your father may have taken a non-traditional approach to running the estate, and yes, as he aged he let more and more things slide but Glenbogle meant everything to him and he gave it his all, every last ounce of himself. Even until the very end! He did well by the people of the community, by his family and friends. So don't ever think for a minute or let anyone tell you that he was just this dotty old man whose only concerns were playing with trains and walking his dogs."

"All right, Mother, get to the point, will you? Are you saying that Jamie could have done a better job? Well here's a news bulletin for you, Mother; Jamie's dead! Jamie. Is. Dead. Call Duncan's Aunt Liz, wasn't it she who put you in contact with one of her psychics, convincing you to hold a séance in the library so you could have a go at contacting Father's spirit? Maybe one of them can conjure up Jamie's ghost for you and then you can ask him for advice on how best to run the estate."

"Archie, how dare you!" Easing her set jaw, Molly collected herself, thinking the better of spewing forth whatever venomous words had come first to the tip of her tongue. When she felt she was more in control and had cleared her head, she proceeded. "Your brother wouldn't have necessarily done a better job, but he was better-suited to this environment. Archie, you've always wanted to explore things, to see not only if but why the grass was greener on the other side of the fence. Before moving back to Glenbogle you'd started your own business with Justine for goodness sakes. There's no doubt you're capable. I've every confidence in you! Since you've been here and in charge, you've managed to get Glenbogle back on its feet in record time. But, is this really what you want?"

Archie shook his head and mumbled, "Whatever!"

"I stayed here because I wanted to," Molly persisted, "but you don't have to. You don't have to settle. All I'm asking you to do is think about it. You have a hard time accepting help but maybe that's just what you need. Glenbogle's a very big place Archie." Molly approached her son and embraced him. "Go ahead with what you've planned for Lexie. Spend some more time together, just the two of you, just being newlyweds."

_**Basement, Glenbogle Estate **_

"Eww!" Donald opened the ice chest and spied the gutted fish.

"Sure, they look awful now, but they'll be mighty tasty once we've finished with 'em."

"What did you do with all the, you know," Donald made a face and looked skittishly around the space.

"What, the innards you mean? I put them in this plastic container I found," Ewan kicked a large round tub with his foot, "What's important is that the lid seals properly—the last thing we want is the stench of fish wafting up through the house." Wiping his hands on a towel, Ewan approached the wooden table where he'd set up the laptop he'd taken earlier from the kitchen. "Okay Donald, come over here. Have y'ever seen one of these before?" Donald shot him a look. "What I mean is have you ever used one? It's really simple; here, let me show you."

"Well what exactly am I to do with this?"

"You mate, are going read up on the processes used for smoking fish. I told you I did a little research already and I've bookmarked some sites for you to check out."

"Bookmarked?"

"Hey buck up, Donald, you're not getting out of doing this, so pay attention. I'm wasting my time here helping you! See," Ewan showed him how the buttons worked, "you use this to scroll down the page and then when you want to read something, you click this button here. See along the side, there's a list. Choose, read and explain to me what our next step should be."

Ewan returned to his work. The next item on his agenda was filleting the salmon. Placing one of the de-headed fish on a cutting board, he carefully began separating the skin from the meat in one slow steady movement. Having loosened the skin on one side, he flipped the fish over, repeating the same actions. Next he laid the filet flat and cut away the rib cage, depositing these bits of fragments and bone into the bucket containing the rest of the innards. After rinsing off the firm pink-orange flesh in the even flow from the cool tap, he set them on some paper towels to drain and picked up the next carcass, continuing the procedure.

As Donald was reading about the pros and cons of hot-smoking versus cold-smoking processes, making the occasional comment to himself under his breath, Ewan placed the first pieces of fish on a thick layer of salt at the bottom of a deep tray. Picking up another large crock, one he'd filled with a mixture of salt and brown sugar—a bit of sweetness to temper the sharpness of the salt—he started to sprinkle the cure over the filets, being more liberal at the head, which was meatier and less so near the more delicate tail.

"Damn!"

"What is it?" Donald pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then looked curiously over at Ewan.

"Nothing, I forgot to get some dill, is all."

"Dill," Donald spoke the monosyllabic word as if it were in a foreign tongue.

"Aye, you know, Donald a few herbs and spices to add a more complex flavor. Listen, I'm gonna nip out to the court yard and snip some fresh herbs—don't touch anything!" Agreeing to abide, Donald resumed his reading.

As Ewan entered the short hall leading to the court yard door, he came face to face with Duncan.

"Hey," Ewan eyed Duncan suspiciously, as the ranger was standing in a sort of spread eagle fashion just in front of the huge open lift which was used to convey things to and from the upper floors of the house.

"Huh? How's it going then?"

"Fine," Ewan tried to look around Duncan. "Whatchya doin'?"

"Nothing, nothing and you, mate. And you, what're you up to?"

"Aye, it's the same as you, Dunc, nothing at all."

"Right then, so carry on, do."

"Want some help with those?"

"With what," Duncan shrugged then turned his head quickly over his shoulder, "oh, these," he pointed to the assembled bins and plastic bags jumbled together on the lift floor. Though late in the day he still hadn't managed to collect and dispose of the trash. "No. I'll just grab some bin bags and then I'll be on my way, me. Listen, mate there's no need to tell Archie 'bout this, is there?"

"No, in fact wait here just one sec." After some quick thinking, Ewan ran back to the makeshift salmon prep room and grabbed the bucket of fish guts. He thrust the sealed bucket at Duncan and the contents sloshed sickeningly about. "Get rid of this too and we'll call it even."

_**The Ghillie's Rest**_

Archie pulled his jeep into the local pub called the _Ghillie's Rest_. "Dougal," he spoke to the barkeep, "is everything all set for Friday night?"

"Yup." Dougal looked up from polishing a glass, "Is this a milestone birthday for Lexie?"

"Not really, but it is her first as mywife. I'll have Ewan drop off the cake Friday morning, if that's all right."

"Aye, that'll do just fine." Archie lingered, turning to look at the room. "Are you nervous Archie?"

"Nah, well, on second thought, aye maybe just a wee bit."

"Och! Don't you mind, you'll do fine. Just remember, you'll be surrounded by family and friends."

"Yes, that's what worries me!"

"Are you having any back-up?"

"Um yes, but they don't know it yet. And I haven't exactly been the easiest person to get along with lately but I'm sure it will be fine!"

"Ah!" Dougal winked. "The things we do for love."

_**Basement, Glenbogle Estate **_

After ridding himself of the trash, curiosity got the better of Duncan and he slid into the back room where Donald and Ewan were working.

"Exactly what was it I got rid of for you?" Being caught off guard, Donald instinctively shut the laptop while Ewan almost dropped the large crock containing the cure mixture.

"Oh, it's just," before Ewan gave a proper explanation, Duncan spied the filets of fish.

"Oh, fish guts! Is that all it was? Oi! You scared me there for a minute." They all breathed a sigh of relief. "So, do you have a place to refrigerate them, then?"

"No, actually we hadn't even though about that, had we Donald?" Donald shrugged and shook his head no.

"Well, are you just curing them or are you going to smoke 'em too?"

"Sit down, lad!" Donald pushed aside the laptop. "What do you know about smoking fish, hmm? And remember," Donald pleaded, "This, is top-secret!"

"Noooo, it isn't. Oh," Duncan caught Donald's drift, "you mean you want to keep this quiet. Aye, I've got you. I know just about everything there is to know about smoking fish." Donald urged him to continue. "It was my granddad, you see. Used to smoke fish all the time…sent my granny absolutely bonkers!"

Donald slapped his hand down hard on Duncan's arm, gripping it tightly. "Yes, that's a delightful story, lad but can you show us what to do?"

"Aye!" Duncan pulled his arm away from Donald's grip, giving him a nasty look in return. "For starters, you can store those filets in my fridge—it's not like there's anything else in there," he added with a chuckle. "I might still have the barrel my granddad used to use, too. I'll go and a have a look-see!"


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

_**With Apologies to the Proclaimers**_

The next couple of days moved slowly for everyone. Lexie, feeling a bit put-off by Archie's attitude—and being a bit hormonal—ended up spending much time alone, questioning her life and the decisions she'd made. Putting off further still the important discussion she needed to have with her husband. Molly did her best to avoid everyone, giving her son and daughter-in-law some much needed space, not knowing that ultimately they'd spent even less time with one another. And Archie was too pre-occupied organizing surprises for Lexie's birthday to have noticed anything else.

But all of this suited Donald, Ewan and Duncan quite well.

_**Lexie & Archie's Bedroom, Glenbogle Estate**_

Lexie awoke Friday morning to a clatter and rattle as Archie tried opening their bedroom door with his elbow. Her eyes still bleary from sleep, she propped herself up against the bed's headboard. "What's this then?"

"It's your Birthday Breakfast." Archie placed the tray of food on the bed and then leaned over to kiss his wife, nearly knocking over a full juice glass and a tiny bud vase. "And that was your Happy Birthday Kiss. One of many I hope to dispense, I might add."

"Mmmm, that suits me. Hey, aren't you going to sing to me, Arch?"

"No, c'mon now Lex, you know I don't sing. So, what have you got planned for the day?"

"Well," Lexie's irritation was mounting, "I thought we'd be spending my birthday together?"

"Yup, well about that, um…"

"Archie? I know you have loads of work to do but that's all I wanted for my birthday. All I wanted was for us to be able to spend some time together."

"Yes Lexie, I know that, and I'm sorry, truly I am. It's just that I have some business I must take care of first. Tell me you understand, please?"

"Important business, is it? Oh wait, don't tell me, it's some insurance thing again, right?"

"It's just something I have to take care of, is all. But I promise we'll have a special dinner together, okay?"

"Right," Lexie sighed, shaking her head, "aye, go on with you then."

_**Exterior, Glenbogle Estate**_

It was late afternoon before Ewan and Duncan were able to coordinate their schedules for the purpose of meeting up with Donald to complete the next phase of Project Salmon Smoke. Deciding to hot-smoke the fish, they chose to work on the steps of the boat house, setting up the smoker under the protective overhang of the building's roof and running an electrical line from one of the other out buildings. As Ewan placed the deep tray of fish on a nearby bench, Duncan set up his granddad's barrel—which he'd managed to find in his croft—with an electric hot-plate, showing Ewan how to fit in a bit of steel mesh on the top to help prevent any ash from the fire blowing onto the fish.

"I was hoping to be here when Donald got back with the sawdust," Duncan explained as he quickly checked on the gathered equipment, "but I've got to run. You know what to do though, mate. Throw the sawdust in the bottom—because that's the important bit, it's the smoldering sawdust that provides the essence for the smoking, you see? Just a sec," he paused, making sure he had Ewan's attention, "Donald knows not to cut down any of these trees, right?" He motioned to those surrounding the property.

"Duncan, can you really see Donald cutting down a tree?"

"No, I s'pose not, it's just that," Duncan pressed on, "these trees are conifers," Ewan shrugged as if to say _yup, what of it,_ "so they contain sap, sap which will produce an acrid vapour if burned."

"Aye Duncan, it's no problem, I can handle it, mate. Now off with you."

_**Archie, Glenbogle Estate**_

Having completed the important errand which had required Archie to travel back and forth a great distance, therefore keeping him away, as he'd anticipated, for the better part of the day, he'd made one final stop to the _Ghillie's Rest_ before going home. He hadn't stopped for a quick pint or a snack, although cook and owner Dougal McCleary did make the best cheeseburger sliders this side of the pond, but instead, he left behind the bar a rather large, flat package, unattractively wrapped in brown paper.

Lexie was collecting the post which was scattered haphazardly across the black and white tiled floor of the entryway, sorting through the rather hefty lot, dividing it this way and that when Archie drove up. As he approached her, she stuck a flashy pink envelope—no doubt, a birthday card from her mother, at the bottom of her pile.

"So my lovely Lairdess, are you going to get yourself ready?"

"Ready for what, Archie? Ooooh, are you going to take me to a five star restaurant or something?"

"Well no, ha-ha," Archie could feel his face reddening, "not exactly. But I dohave a special surprise for you. Lexie, please, trust me, okay?"

Although he stepped forward to give her a hug, or at the very least a peck on the cheek, Lexie took a step back, thrusting the pile of mail toward him. "Here," she said none too amused, "sort that out while I get ready."

_**Entrance Hall, Glenbogle Estate**_

"Archie? What do you have there?" Molly met Archie in the entrance hall. "Is that the post? Oh, stop fussing with it. Here, give it to me." Taking the stack, she spread the envelopes out on the marble-topped telephone table, grimacing when she caught sight of two or three bills. "Is Lexie getting ready?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Archie?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you given any more thought to what we discussed the other day?"

"Yes and no, mother but listen, now's not really the time, is it?"

"Hullo!" Golly knocked on one of the paneled double doors that led to the entrance hall.

"Golly! You made it, great."

"Aye, I wouldn't miss this for the world." He grinned, "Thanks for inviting me, son."

Archie rolled his eyes; he knew it had been a mistake to let the Ghillie in on his plans for Lexie's special day, a scheme having the potential to destroy whatever dignity Archie had, leaving him open to being mocked ad nauseam. But, he knew, it was all in the name of fun and when all was said and done, would hopefully be a memory Lexie would always treasure.

"Brilliant," Archie began pacing along the oriental carpeting, "that's two down, now let's see, we're waiting for," he started ticking names off on his fingers, "Duncan, Ewan, plus the guest of honor and Donald. Does anyone know what's happened to either Donald or Ewan? It seems I haven't seen them for days."

_**The Boat House, Glenbogle Property**_

Donald raced up to the boat house, panting and sweating, a bucket of sawdust swinging from one hand.

"Finally, what took you so long, man?" Ewan grabbed the bucket from Donald, pouring its contents into the bottom of the barrel.

"Do you know," still breathing heavily, Donald stopped for a moment to catch his breath, "how hard it is to find sawdust?"

_**Entrance Hall, Glenbogle Estate**_

Archie glanced at his watch, "Come on, Lexie. Do you see anybody else coming, Golly?"

The Ghillie was gazing out one of the windows which overlooked the front property. "Nope, sorry Archie."

"You did tell Duncan and Ewan to meet us here at the estate, correct?"

"Aye."

_**The Boat House**_

Ewan carefully tamped down the sawdust in the bottom of the barrel, just as Duncan had instructed him to do.

_**Entrance Hall, Glenbogle Estate**_

Duncan came barging through the front doors of the house and straight into the entrance hall, while at the same time Lexie descended the main staircase.

"Oh," Lexie looked amused, "so everyone's waiting for me, are they?" Smiling, she said thanks, as everyone shouted Happy Birthday.

"Listen, Arch," Duncan tried desperately to speak with his boss, "about Donald and Ewan…"

"Duncan they'll just have to meet us down at the _Ghillie's Rest_."

"But Archie, they're busy."

"Look, Dunc, I can't imagine they'd miss Lexie's party. They'll just have to meet us there, we can't hold up things any longer!"

_**The Boat House**_

Ewan was fiddling with one of the steel grates. "So Donald, where did you get the sawdust from anyway?"

"Ah, from the camp grounds, it was ingenious on my part, actually. Doesn't that Duncan chap teach some sort of tree-carving course or the like up there? Because, there were all sorts of weird sculptures all around, carved out of tree trunks."

Getting impatient with Ewan's preparations, Donald rummaged through some things and found a box of matches. He struck a matchstick on the sole of his shoe and he threw it into the barrel.

_**Front Drive, Glenbogle Estate**_

"Okay, Mother why don't you join me and Lexie. We'll take the blue truck," milling around the outside of the house, Archie took charge of deciding who would ride with whom to the _Ghillie's Rest_, "Then that leaves you two," he pointed to Golly and Duncan, "to go together in the Land Rover. Is that all right with everyone?"

Before anyone had agreed or had made any movements towards the vehicles, they all heard a loud explosion erupt from the back of the house.

"What the…?" Archie ran in the direction of the sound. A thick trail of blackish smoke was billowing upward.

"Archie?"

"Wait there, Lexie," the laird yelled.

Joining him, Golly and Duncan followed Archie to the back of the house.

_**The Boat House**_

The barrel had become completely engulfed in flames. After making sure Donald was okay, Ewan had managed to tip the barrel on its side and roll it down to the water, where it sizzled and popped and threw off steam before finally being extinguished.

By the time Archie and the others had reached them, they were sitting, spent, on the boat house steps.

"I'm not even going to ask," Archie looked round at the accumulate materials, and then spotted the whiskey barrel in the loch. "Are you both all right?" Though clearly shell-shocked, they both shook their heads yes.

"It must have been the sawdust," said Ewan.

Duncan stepped forward, "You did get it from the saw-mill down the road, right? Donald?"

"I got it from the camp grounds."

"Och, you daft old man! That has oil from the chain-saw all over it! Blimey, that's what ignited!"

"Yes, thank you Duncan. That fact has become quite evident to me now."

"I guess there goes your plan then," Ewan snickered and whispered to Donald, "gone up in smoke! Hook, line and sinker!"

_**The Ghillie's Rest**_

Finally managing to get everyone settled at the _Ghillie's Rest_, Lexie was led to a table set in front.

"Okay, here it goes—you just remember Lexie, I love you."

"Wait, Arch. Where are you going?

"You'll see," he smiled.

Archie stood on the square platform that served as the stage and grabbed a microphone, "Hello everyone. I want to thank you all for coming together this afternoon in honor of my lovely wife's birthday." Everyone clapped and cheered. Someone called out Lexie's name. "Before I lose my nerve, I'm going to do this. With," he added, "my apologies to _The Proclaimers_. Happy Birthday, Lexie!"

As the lively music started, Lexie immediately recognized the song _I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)_, by one of her favorite Scottish groups, _The Proclaimers_. She began to laugh while simultaneously tears welled in her eyes and the flesh on her arms erupted with goose bumps.

Starting off shaky at first, Archie gained more confidence with each line. He sang:

_When I wake up, yeah I know I'm gonna be,  
I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you  
When I go out yeah I know Im gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you  
And If I get drunk, yes I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you  
And if I haver whatever that means  
I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you_

On cue with the chorus of the song, Duncan and Ewan hopped onto the stage, taking their places as Archie's back-up singers—hamming it up as only they could:

_But I would walk 500 miles  
And I would walk 500 more  
To be the man who walked 1,000 miles  
To fall down at your door_

By the next verse, everyone was on their feet, singing, dancing and having fun, including Lexie, who joined her husband on the stage.

Having performed a rousing encore and a few hip-hip-hoorays, the crowd settled down to quench their parched throats. Molly took the opportunity to steal away to the bar, where she picked up the now unwrapped package Archie had delivered earlier and then, she herself stepped onto the stage.

"Excuse me, if I could have your attention again, please. Lexie, dear I'd like to present to you this gift from both Archie and me." She turned it around to reveal a framed painting of the MacDonald-McTavish family tree, the delicate branches stretching out with each person's name beautiful written in calligraphy.

"Oh," Lexie gasped. "It's beautiful, Molly. So," she said in disbelief, looking from husband to mother-in-law, "this is why you've been so secretive these last few days then?"

"Yes Lexie. We're guilty as charged. Archie researched all of our families, which was a little bit hard given your side is so dispersed. Then we needed to approve the artistic progress of the piece." Molly smiled, "And see, down at the bottom here," she pointed to the area on the tree, "there's plenty of room to add more names. Not that I'm putting any pressure on you, mind," Molly winked as the crowd laughed. Lexie, Molly and Archie all exchanged hugs.

"Actually, um," Lexie took the microphone this time," I'd like to say a few words if I may. First, I want to thank everyone for coming and celebrating and for my family—all of you—specifically she glanced at Golly, Duncan and Ewan. You've all meant so much to me over the years. And, I've been trying all week to have a private conversation with my husband," again she started to tear, "but, with him being the laird and all," everyone snickered, "I know you have a lot on your plate, Arch, but I've been wanting to tell you something all week. Guess now I might as well tell the whole lot of you as there isn't anywhere else in the world I'd rather raise our wee bairn then right here at Glenbogle."

"Lexie," Archie appeared stunned at first, then comprehension set in, "are you saying?"

"Yes, Archie, yes I'm pregnant!"

********

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

In amongst the post that lay on the telephone table waiting to be collected was a small white envelope addressed to Donald.

Paul Bowman, his son, had finally sent a reply.

_**The End**_


End file.
